Uncle, what are you doing here? Why aren‘t you in Alaganik? Who‘s got the Freya? Got some king salmon for you, girl, he said.

Kings? Kate said. Where‘d you get—

She quit before she got them all into trouble. Due to three years‘ worth of low returns, king season wasn‘t open anywhere on the Kanuyaq, or in Alaganik Bay, either, not even for subsistence fishers.

The other shoe dropped and she glared at him. It was so typical of Old Sam to apologize for the whole body-as-bear-bait affair with salmon that were illegally caught. She had thought that business concluded with his hiring of Petey Jeppsen and Phyllis Lestinkof. Her mistake.

Old Sam followed her train of thought without difficulty, and gave her his patently could-give-a-shit grin. Where was Mary Balashoff when Kate really needed her? Where‘s Mary? Kate said.

Mary Balashoff was Old Sam‘s longtime squeeze. She had a set net site on Alaganik Bay and the two were inseparable on off periods during the summer. She‘s minding my girl, Old Sam said. Since my regular deckhand saw fit to run out on me this summer.

This was unanswerable, so Kate said, Petey working out?

He‘s almost worth cutting up for bait.

From Old Sam this was a compliment.

And Phyllis?

Some of what she cooks is almost fit to eat.

All well, then.

You want the kings or don‘t you? Old Sam said.

Kate looked at Auntie Vi. With unspoken agreement neither looked at Holly Haynes, the Outsider who stood there, clueless, and who should for all their sakes depart as unenlightened as she had arrived. Let‘s see ‘em.

Old Sam pulled down the tailgate of the International to reveal a wet-lock box. With some ceremony, he opened it.

Inside were half a dozen kings, which Kate eyeballed at about thirty pounds each. They‘d been blooded and gutted, and from where she was standing Kate could see the thick line of fat between skin and meat.

Drool pooled in her mouth. These kings had never seen fresh water. She looked at Old Sam, who looked back at her, radiating all the innocence of the devil himself. What do you want to do with them, girl?

We‘re going to eat one right now, Kate said. I‘ll smoke and can the rest. I guess I‘d better be going, Holly Haynes said, without moving.

You‘re welcome to stay, Kate lied.

Auntie Vi, constrained by Bush hospitality, said with a false heartiness anyone but a moron would have recognized, Stay, stay! You got to eat!

Haynes, alas, hesitated, and then, eying the salmon, capitulated. Her capitulation could also, Kate realized after the fact, have something to do with Haynes not wanting to go back to Niniltna and the B and B where Mr. and Mrs. Truax were enjoying a rare moment of connubial bliss.

Kate set up a stained sheet of plywood on two sawhorses and got out the filet knives and the garden hose. Auntie Vi filled a couple of five-gallon plastic buckets with water and stirred in quantities of salt. Old Sam headed and fileted the kings with deft, sure motions, and all the filets but one went into the brine. The heads went into the freezer for fish head soup in the winter.